


Defeat

by KenrakenOkwaho



Series: Twisted Minds [2]
Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Introspection, M/M, Male Slash, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Public Blow Jobs, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, a bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26633593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KenrakenOkwaho/pseuds/KenrakenOkwaho
Summary: When they finally reach the king, the confrontation doesn't go as planned. Galbatorix is too powerful and it seems that he has developed an unhealthy obsession with the young Rider.
Relationships: Eragon Shadeslayer/Galbatorix, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Murtagh Morzansson/Eragon Shadeslayer
Series: Twisted Minds [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937815
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	Defeat

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! 
> 
> So this is my second fic in this fandom, and I have written it over the course of my journey home, on my phone. Not a very pleasant environment, but I just had to write while I had inspiration. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy the read and please forgive the raw form and any mistakes you might notice.

"You need to be taught a lesson in humility, _boy._ " sneers Galbatorix as he slinks closer, the perfect mirror of a wolf on the prowl, eyes burning with unsettling hunger. He stops inches away from Eragon. Up close, the king's dark orbs resemble two tenebrous abysses, something feral lurking in their depths.

There is a predatory purr lacing the mad man's words, a hint of twisted promise that sends shivers down Eragon’s spine while he struggles to keep himself together before the onslaught on his mind begins.

It never comes. 

Instead of the expected ruthless stabs at his consciousness, clawed fingers brush away the strands of hair sticking to his damp forehead, too gentle and too dreadfully soothing in their ruse. They trail across his temple like the fluttering wings of a butterfly, then stop to wipe away a few droplets of blood that trickle down his lacerated cheek. He watches with mortification as the king lifts it to his lips, tongue lapping at the stained appendage, eyes closed in what can only be considered an expression of pure satisfaction.

The groan that echoes startles everyone.

No one speaks. Not through voice and not through mind. They can't, an invisible veil isolating each consciousness.

Air suddenly leaves his lungs when a fist sinks into his abomen, not far from the wound in his side. He thinks he hears concerned whispers in his head, but the spasms and coughs that rake his body tune them out as he hunches over, a hand resting on his shoulder only to force him down to his knees.

Then, as if nothing has transpired, clawlike fingers resume their mocking caresses, tracing his jaw until they stop under his chin and tilt his head. A thumb presses on his bottom lip. It lingers there for a while, stroking the bitten flesh. 

"You enjoy spewing insults, _little one."_ a snarl resounds at the term of endearment, a snarl that can only belong to Saphira "Such a beautiful mouth should be put to better use, wouldn't you all agree?" chuckles the former Rider, a leer taking over angular features whilst his hand grips the back of Eragon’s neck. 

The touch is smoldering, heat seared into alabaster skin akin to a brand. Eragon fears that, if anyone were to look, they would certainly see a twisting flame scorched into flesh. A seal of fate never to be broken.

He snaps out of his reverie when Galbatorix yanks him to his feet and drags him to the throne. In mere moments, he finds himself yet again on his knees. His heartbeat quickens, ribcage thrumming with the roar of blood as he takes in his position.

Between the king's spread legs, he feels small and insignificant, a speck of dust in the fabric of the universe. This doesn't frighten him, however. No, what chills him to the bone is the perverse glint in Galbatorix' eyes, a smirk playing on thin lips. He freezes when his hands move of their own accord to fumble with the laces of leather breeches, pulling them down along with the man’s undergarments.

A lump forms in his throat and his mouth dries completely, horror seizing all his senses at the sight before him. The king's cock is long and thick, beads of clear liquid dribbling from the nearly red tip to coat the shaft and its pattern of protruding veins. In a desperate attempt, he draws energy from the Eldunarì, trying to pierce Galbatorix' telepathic shield. 

Their efforts do not last.

Every ounce of concentration evaporates when Galbatorix grabs him by the hair so tightly that his scalp stings. He’s ashamed of the brief jolt of pleasure that makes warmth pool in the pit of his stomach and sparks simmer in his lower back. A blush paints his cheeks and the bridge of his aquiline nose, slowly spreading down his neck.

There is no time for further self-loathing, for the mad man pulls him closer to the threatening length that twitches in anticipation. He keeps his mouth shut, lips set into a firm line, the only thing he can do. A shudder travels through his whole being the moment the wet cockhead slides over his lips in order to coax them open. When he fails to obey, Galbatorix tugs his head back and he gasps. 

The king wastes no time and thrusts inside the Rider's mouth, throat constricting around his length as it slides deeper and deeper. Eragon’s choking whimpers are like music to his ears, so sweet and pathetic... and entirely his to wring out any time he pleases. A low rumble vibrates in his chest the second his cock hits the back of Eragon’s throat, and he holds it there, admiring the view of cracked lips stretched around his girth until he notices the boy's eyes roll into his skull. He pulls out with surprising care, a string of saliva connecting his member to plump, red lips while more spit drips down Eragon’s chin and onto the floor.

He laughs long and rich.

"Oh, Murtagh, if only you could see your brother now. Such a perfect, little whore. I'm sure he'd love to taste you, wouldn't you, _little one?_ " he asks, false tenderness underlying his tone as he dips a finger into the wet heat of the Rider's mouth.

Eragon can't see Murtagh, but he does hear his half-brother’s low growls reverberate through the throneroom, strangely menacing, even to his ears. He looks up Galbatorix, baring his teeth in a snarl, but the king ignores him, staring at Murtagh instead. Amusement gleams in pitch-black orbs, and Eragon doesn't understand why until the man speaks again.

"My dear, dear boy, did you believe that I do not know of your... less than proper interests in your brother?" the king grins at his own rethorical question before he continues "You're just as depraved as your father, but then again I am beyond grateful to him, no matter the personal issues."

In a sharp motion, he hefts Eragon onto his lap to face their silent audience, hand clutching the brunet's jaw in an unforgiving grasp "Look at them, mighty Rider!" he exclaims "Look into their eyes and let them see your shame."

He can't.

Tears begin to blur Eragon’s vision as he fights to stop them from falling. He ultimately fails when a hand glides between his legs to stroke him through his trousers, an obvious tent already formed there. His breath hitches and a strangled moan escapes his lungs as Galbatorix presses the heel of his palm into his groin. He arches his back in unwanted pleasure, foreign sensations coursing through his body whilst he grinds up involuntarily. 

More tears pour down his cheeks and he wails.

Everything goes dark.

**Author's Note:**

> P. S. If any of you are interested, I plan to make a series out of the two fics I wrote, and thus write more.
> 
> Thank you for reading! It would also be lovely to read your opinions in the comments, if you have the time to leave one, of course :)


End file.
